


Snake on the Loose

by NotTasha



Series: Snake Series [2]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Drowning, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-14 07:34:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5735170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotTasha/pseuds/NotTasha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The killer from Snake in the Grass escapes.  And Chris still needs to have a talk with Ezra.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snake on the Loose

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMERS: This is fanfiction. No profit involved. This story is based on the television series "The Magnificent Seven". No infringement upon the copyrights held by CBS, MGM, Trilogy Entertainment Group, The Mirisch Corp. or any others involved with that production is intended.  
> RATING: PG13 - for some ill spoken words and some general roughing-up  
> MAJOR CHARACTERS: Ezra and Chris  
> SUMMARY: A sequel Snake in the Grass. Does Chris ever get around to having 'that little talk' with our man Standish? KellyA also wrote a very fine alternate sequel called - If Only http://www.blackraptor.net/m7fic-28/ifonly.htm  
> DATE: Originally posted December 12, 2001.

Part 1:

Chris Larabee leaned against the roof support and watched the crowds shuffle by. The last few week had been tiring... beyond tiring -- ache-to-the-bone tiring -- fall-over-half-dead tiring -- sit-down-and-don't-get-up-again tiring -- like-to-eat-but-just-can't-get-the-fork-to-your-mouth tiring. There was probably a better word for it, but Larabee didn't know it.

People were flooding into Four Corners from all around the territory. For the lawmen, it meant long hours patrolling the streets, settling petty arguments, trying to control the crowds, breaking up fights. On top of that, someone had to be at the jail at all times, not only to watch the prisoner but also to protect the bastard.

Popular sentiment was that Edgar Wahl should die -- if not by the noose, then another means would be all-too-happily provided. And to complete the package, the town was down by two lawmen. The fact that two of Chris' friends had nearly died was damn well reason enough to feel like hell.

Chris turned to the gallows that had been hastily erected beside the jail. In a little less than a day, the structure would be put to use -- Edgar Wahl would be executed. He was the cause of all of this. The crowd had started building for the trial and had only grown since the speedy verdict of guilty was handed down. The man would hang tomorrow. But this worn-down feeling had started before that, and all of it due to Wahl.

The McCannons -- it had started with the McCannons. 

The family had met their end at the hands of that man. Almost a month ago the odious creature had arrived on their property and gunned them down. A man and his wife, a boy and two girls all ended their existence on that lonely farm. And then Ezra and Vin had nearly died getting that prick from Eagle Bend to Four Corners for his trial.

Chris looked up the clinic where both lawmen were still Nathan's captives. His gut clenched at the memory... Vin shot... Ezra bit by a rattlesnake. How had Ezra survived it? A number of answers tumbled through Chris' head. Too damn stubborn to die, hated losing, couldn't let me get in the last word -- professional courtesy -- snakes don't kill other snakes.

"You're not a snake, Ezra," Chris muttered to himself. He just wished he'd had a chance to tell the man himself.

For over a week now, Chris had tried to talk to Ezra about what had happened, but between his duties in town and the fact that Standish was asleep most of the time, Larabee hadn't found the time to speak to the convalescing cardsharp. And what with Vin in the room --- as well as the hovering Nathan and Josiah -- there was no hope of any private conversation.

"Hey, pard," Buck said as he strode up to the black-clad gunslinger.

"Buck," Larabee greeted.

"I was just gonna head on over to the jail and relieve Josiah," Buck stated. "Lord, I hope this is over soon. Don't know how much longer I'll be able to stand that Wahl. I'm just glad we got the trial over so soon. Don't think I can put up with this mob much longer." He gestured out across the crowded street. "Can't hardly spit without causin' a fight."

"The hangin's tomorrow," Chris said. "We'll can get rid of that pile of shit."

"Won't be soon enough for me. That Wahl is some piece of work. Won't ever shut his yap."

"Stretchin' his neck should take care of that."

"I sure as hell hope so," Buck said. "But I wouldn't lay money on it." He then touched the brim of his hat and continued on his way.

Chris noticed Nathan heading along the boardwalk with a tray, stepping carefully to avoid the throngs that blocked his path. Chris headed across the street to intercept him. "Nathan," Chris greeted as the healer reached the stairs. "How're your patients doin' today?"

Nathan shook his head. "Ornery as hell!" he grumbled. "Neither of 'em will do a thing I ask 'em. Vin's not sittin' still and Ezra's not eatin'. I don't know what I'm gonna do with 'em."

"I'll give ya a hand. Maybe they'll listen to me."

"Be my guest," Nathan said without conviction as they ascended the stairs.

Chris opened the door once they reached the upper story and Nathan headed in with the lunch tray. The healer came to an abrupt stop halfway through the doorway and demanded, "Where the hell is he?"

Vin, sitting propped up in bed, asked innocently, "Who?"

Nathan strode into the room and noisily set down the tray. "Vin, I don't have time for this. I gotta get back to patrolling. Where did that stubborn southern pain-in-the-neck get off to?"

Vin smiled at the healer and said, "Well, you didn't say anythin' about him having to stay still."

Nathan flung up his hands and faced Chris. "You see what I have to put up with? All the time!"

"Vin," Chris sighed. "Where'd he go?"

"He said he was tired of bein' cooped up in here, so he cleared on out."

"He shouldn't be movin' around. Besides, I thought his leg hurt too much to put any weight on it."

"He found that walkin' stick ya had hid back behind yer desk," Vin said with a shrug that brought a wince.

Nathan frowned. "How’d he know it was there?"

Vin laughed. "Well, 'member when you mentioned it to him -- tryin' to bribe him into behaving himself? You said you'd let him have it if he just minded you. When you mentioned it, you looked right where it was hid." Vin grinned in satisfaction.

Jackson sighed. 

Chris chuckled dryly. "That's what you get for treating a con man and a tracker."

Nathan nodded glumly. "If he wants that leg to heal up properly, he should stay off it. It's still swollen." Nathan rubbed his forehead and added. "He's just not up to it yet. He just don't have the energy."

"I'll find him," Chris assured. "You have any idea of where he went, Vin?"

Vin shook his head. "Nah, he's been pretty tight-lipped the whole time we've been here. Hardly said a word to me." He craned his neck to see the tray. "Didja bring me a sandwich or somethin'?"

Chris left the clinic and headed to the saloon -- the most obvious place. The business was crowded, and it took a moment for Chris to scan the room. He didn't catch sight of the gambler.

Chris found Inez and she stated that she hadn't seen Ezra, but the saloon had been so busy, it would have been easy to miss him -- especially if he were trying to sneak past.

The gunslinger broke into Ezra's room next, but it was pristine and empty. Chris walked slowly around the room, noting that Ezra's weapons weren't where Larabee had returned them after the incident at Falling Cross.

He must have been here at some time, Chris thought. He knew that Ezra felt half-naked without his guns. He always expected the worst and figured that he could only rely on himself to get out of trouble. Well, Larabee understood that feeling.

Chris had just walked out on the boardwalk, wondering where to check next, when a young man in a black suit stepped up to him.

"Mr. Larabee," Ben Mack, the town's cabinetmaker / undertaker said. He was still rather new to the area, but was well acquainted with what happened to those that crossed the lawmen of Four Corners. Few people were bold enough to question Chris Larabee, and it was, perhaps, Mack's close association with death that made him do so; he wasn't afraid of it. "It's not my business, but I was wondering why you had Mr. Standish on patrol. He really didn't look very well and I think you should be goin' a bit easier on him because..." 

Chris put up his hand to silence the earnest man. "Patrol?"

"I saw him headin' out of the livery and I asked him what he was doing. I told him that he looked like he should be in bed, but he said that he had to check the road to Eagle Bend because..."

"Eagle Bend?" Chris cut in.

"Yes, he did," Ben said, nodding down the road in the direction that Standish had taken. "He was in a bit of a hurry."

"Wantin' to get away before I saw him," Larabee said under his breath, and then spoke loud enough for the undertaker to hear. "Thank you, Ben. I'll go find out what he's doin'. Could you poke your head in the jail and let Buck know where I've gone off to?"

Ben nodded his acknowledgement, but Larabee was already striding his way toward the livery.

 

Part 2:

Craig Lewis and Gilbert Haversham rode into town at an easy pace, leading a third horse behind them. The streets were crowded, and it was difficult to move with any speed. Lewis cursed as a pair of kids tore across their path and Gil gestured rudely at them. The children made it to the other side of the street and looked back at the two men with frightened expressions before they ran around the side of the mercantile.

Lewis, with sandy hair and a pinched face, grumbled as they slowly made their way across town. 

Gil, a large man with a walrus mustache, muttered, "This had better be appreciated."

"Yeah," Lewis returned. "It will be. Don't worry... it will be."

"What the hell's goin' on here?" Gil swatted at a sorrel horse that had come too close to his own big roan. The sorrel tried to rear away and its rider was almost thrown. "Can't hardly move."

"'Spect they're here for the hangin'," Lewis said offhand. "Must be quite a draw, huh?" His pretty little bay mare danced backward for a moment. "S'alright, Princess," Lewis encouraged her forward.

"Dang near looks like a festival," Gil grumbled.

The two men paused and watched as a man in black rode past them at a good pace, easily parting the crowd, like Moses and the Red Sea. The crowd gazed after him for a few seconds and then closed the gap. Gil and Lewis continued on their way.

"There it is," Gil said, pointing to the jail.

"Yup," Lewis returned.

A young man, broad shouldered and dourly dressed, was standing in the doorway of the jail, talking to someone within. A mustached cowboy came to the door and the two discussed something for a moment before the first one left.

The tall cowboy looked frustrated and shouted after the man, "Dang it, Ben! Did he tell ya how me and the rest of the boys are s'pose to watch things with only four of us now?"

The first man didn't answer and soon disappeared into the undertaker's shop. The cowboy grumbled and returned to the jail.

Lewis looked at Gil and grinned. This was going to be easy.

 

Part 3:

There was no hope of tracking Ezra on the well-traveled path, but there were plenty of folks to ask along the way. People were flooding into town as if they expected a carnival instead of an execution. Larabee came across a group of cowpokes that remembered seeing Ezra on the trail. 

The men started asking Chris questions about that execution...whether or not they'd be able to get a good view of it. Chris just shook his head and headed on his way.

"What the hell is he up to?" Chris muttered as he rode toward Eagle Bend by way of Falling Cross. Why the hell is he heading back there? What could he possibly want? Is he looking for the damn snake that bit him? Is he just trying to get away....away from me?

He mulled over what had happened over the past weeks, Ezra's silence and his own malevolent behavior. He couldn't blame the gambler for wanting to put some space between them for a while. He just wanted to catch up with him and try to put things right.

Larabee watched as a wagon came toward him. Six youths were sitting in the vehicle, all of them laughing and having one hell of a time. They became quiet as the saw the ominous looking gunman nearing them.

"Boys," Chris started.

"Hey, Mister," the driver said, looking suspiciously at him. "We done nothin' wrong."

"Pa said we could take the wagon," said another. "Long as we don't run the horses too hard and bring some sugar, coffee and gingham back for my Ma."

"Yeah, me and my cousins is jus' comin' to see the hangin'," a third uttered. "Come to see that murderin' man die."

"We ain't doin' no harm," said a fourth.

"Boys, I don't care what the hell you're up to," Larabee said with a sigh. "I just need to know if you've seen a man goin' the other way on this trail."

The boys looked thoughtful so Larabee continued. "He'd be dressed too good for the trail, ridin' a chestnut horse, fancy lookin' saddle..." 

"Yeah," a fifth boy said. "We seen someone like that..."

"But he weren't on the trail," the third put in.

Chris frowned. "Well, where was he?"

The six of them pointed to the left. "He was on another trail goin' off that way," said the second boy.

"Off that way," the sixth reiterated.

Chris looked off in the direction that the teens had indicted. What was Ezra doing over there? Chris swore as a realization hit him, and he turned Job to follow the new path.

The boys released a collective sigh of relief and continued on their way.

Damn it, Larabee thought, leaving the wagon of youngsters behind. Ezra wasn't heading to Falling Cross...not to Eagle Bend. He was heading for the McCannon home. Ezra was heading back to the scene of the tragedy.

Chris spurred his horse. He'd have to catch the fool before he got there.

 

Part 4:

Buck sat back in his chair, glaring across the room at Edgar Wahl. Wilmington couldn't understand the man -- couldn't begin to fathom how a man could do what this prisoner did. How could a man kill a woman and her children? How could he cold-heartedly kill that family? And, why wouldn't he shut up about it? Damn, if Wilmington had to hear the story one more time, he'd open fire on the bastard.

For the moment though, Wahl was quietly pacing his cell. Perhaps the gravity of the situation finally had found a purchase on him. He would die tomorrow. He would be led to the gallows. A hood would be placed over his head, a rope drawn tight to his neck and then the floor would drop out from beneath him.

The condemned man glanced out of his barred window to the wooden structure that spelled his doom, and then sat down on the cot. He rubbed his bandaged arm where he had been shot over a week ago.

Buck watched Wahl's movements, wondering if anything touched this man...this snake.

There was a sound at the door. Buck stood, reaching for his gun. He swore to himself, realizing that he had to protect this piece of shit one more time.

Two men entered the room. One of them had a thin face and sandy hair. The other was fat and had a walrus mustache. "That 'im?" the mustached man asked as he pointed at the cell. He looked to Wilmington and repeated. "That 'im?"

"That’s Edgar Wahl?" the sandy-haired one tipped his head at the man in the cell. Wahl stood and stared back at the two men.

"Well," Buck said, "seein' as he's the only one in there, I 'spect that he is." He held his hand on his gun, waiting for the two men to make their move. God help me if they try to shoot him, Buck thought. He was ready to step aside and let them at the felon.

Somewhat reluctantly, Buck stated, "If ya'll want to come for a visit, I'm afraid you'll have to leave your sidearms here." Wilmington pointed to the desk. "Say what you want to him but leave the rest for tomorrow. I'm sure that a lot of citizens would feel somewhat put out if you took away their entertainment."

The sandy-haired one laughed and pulled his gun from the holster, holding it upside down and harmlessly. "I 'spect I have a word or two for 'im," he said.

"Look out!" the fat one's voice echoed in the close confines of the jail. His eyes went wide and he pointed frantically to the cell.

Buck turned, drawing his gun at the passive prisoner. 

What the hell? 

The jailed Wahl gave no appearance of threat. Buck turned back to the visitors in time to see the man with the sandy hair raise his gun. Before Buck could react, the gun was slammed against the side of his head.

Buck's knees turned to jelly. He tried to steady himself with one hand on the desk, but the world tilted against him and he slid to the floor. His peripheral vision dimmed. Blackness slid inward like a blanket until only a tiny pin-hole of light reached him. Even that faded as he collapsed on the floor.

 

Part 5:

Ezra approached the McCannon's farmhouse. 

In his mind, he could still see things as they had been. It had been sunset when he’d arrived. He had been happy, content. He had spent his day gaming and was ready to have a pleasant visit with the family and then head home. He had expected to see three laughing children and to win over Patrice -- their wise and fierce mother -- to meet their father. Instead he had found only death. Ezra felt his chest tighten at the memory of the five bloody bodies.

So much pain and destruction and not a thing he could have done to stop it. Then there was the funeral that he had chosen not to attend. He had no place among the mourners, feeling his own part in their deaths. Chris had given him no let-up during those days, seeming to find fault in everything he did. It was all justified, of course. 

Then, he had been included in that disastrous expedition to retrieve Wahl. Vin had been shot -- nearly died. My fault, Ezra thought. I was the one who let Wahl on the loose. 

Of course there had been the rattlesnake as well. Ezra shuddered at the memory. He still felt like hell and was insufferably weak, but at least he could breathe properly again. The memories of what followed the snake's attack were muddled. Faces came and went, and it had been so hard to draw air. The pain had been tremendous.

The deaths weren't his fault. Ezra remembered coming to that conclusion sometime during that night. But it nagged at him now, the sad fact that he had done nothing to protect the family. If he only had arrived sooner, then none of this would have happened. Neither he nor Vin would have been harmed, the family would still be alive, and Wahl... 

Ezra drew near the house. Chaucer slowed, feeling the trepidation of his owner, but the rider gave him an encouraging pat and the horse continued toward the familiar house.

Ezra was surprised to see the house look so... normal. Somehow he expected to see the grounds littered with tumbleweeds, cobwebs in every corner, paint peeling. What he saw instead was a home... a place where someone should still be living. Death should have changed the place. He squinted at the front windows. Hadn't they been shattered? They looked complete again.

Chaucer came to a halt when Ezra spied the laundry on the clothesline. Good Lord, Ezra thought, didn't anyone think to bring it in? The laundry flapped and flailed in the breeze. It reminded him of how the curtains had fluttered at the empty windows on the night that he searched the house, looking for the little girls and their mother. He watched the clothing dance in the wind, thinking of the people who must have once worn them.

A movement drew his attention away from the laundry. The front door opened, creaking on rusty hinges. He quickly shifted his gaze to see Patrice McCannon walk onto the front porch and look at him. 

Ezra froze. 

The matriarch moved down the stairs as she wiped her hands on her apron. She's come back to haunt me, he thought. He remembered how she had been anxious to get her children away from him -- to protect them from snakes and scoundrels such as himself. Was she coming back to accuse him of allowing them all to die?

"Dear Lord," Ezra whispered. "I'm sorry."

"Ezra! Dammit!" 

Ezra barely heard the voice as Chris charged forward and grabbed him by the elbow. "Didn't you hear me? I was shoutin' my fool head off!"

Ezra turned his gaze on Larabee. Where had he come from? He then snapped his attention back to the woman on the porch... not Mrs. McCannon... can't be. 

"Who?" Ezra asked, "Who is she?"

"That's Aida, Ezra," Chris said, looking concerned. "It's her sister, Aida Bonham. She and her family got here four days ago. They took up the place."

Ezra watched the woman walk toward them with a toddler following close behind. She looked like Patrice, but there were differences: a little shorter, a smaller nose, lighter hair...a sister.

Damn fool, he thought. What the hell did you think you were looking at -- a ghost? Do you honestly believe that you saw a ghost? You've been sick too long and are letting your mind run wild --a stupid and childish thing to be doing. 

"Mr. Standish?" Aida asked as she drew near. Undoubtedly she had learned his name due to Chris' shouts.

Ezra forced a smile and said, "At your service, ma'am. And this is Mr. Chris Larabee. You'll find that he is a force to be reckoned with, but fair in all his endeavors."

Chris shook his head at the comment.

"Mr. Larabee, of course." She nodded to the black-clad gunslinger. "I suppose you couldn't be anyone but Mr. Larabee." She smiled. "What a surprise...a delightful surprise. I'm so pleased to finally meet you both. Won't you come in? We're about ready for lunch. Would you join us?"

Lunch... Ezra thought. But wasn't it too late for lunch? She sounded like her sister, had the same strong voice, the same lovely accent, letting Standish know that the two had grown up in Kentucky. 

He replied, "Thank you, Mrs. Bonham. I'm afraid that we must be on our way."

Chris swung himself out of his saddle and said, "Now Ezra, we can't say 'no' to such a nice invitation and I know for a fact that you ain't eaten yet."

Ezra hadn't moved from his horse. He glared at Chris who stood beside him now, offering a hand to help him down.

Chris turned to Aida and said, "Mr. Standish would enjoy a home-cooked meal. He hasn't been very happy with the fare he's been gettin' in town lately." He returned his gaze to Ezra and added, "And she's invited you right nicely, I'd say."

"Yes, please, Mr. Standish," Aida said brightly as her daughter clung to her skirt. The little girl had long blonde hair that fell in ringlets around her chubby face. She looked up at the man on the horse and moved so that mother was between them. Two children appeared on the porch and peered timidly over the railing. The boy was fair-haired like his mother and youngest sister; the elder girl had black hair, tied in pig-tails.

Ezra wavered slightly in his saddle and clutched the pommel to keep his balance.

"Mr. Standish?" Aida called. "Are you all right?"

"Quite well. Thank you," Ezra said and smiled pleasantly at Aida. "We would be delighted to join you in your repast. I could never refuse a lady."

Ezra dismounted ungracefully, needing to lean on Chris as he untangled his uncooperative leg from the stirrup. He felt disgustingly weak, and was grateful that Larabee said nothing, but he did receive a worried look from the man.

Chris saw the walking stick shoved in with Ezra's rifle and drew it out of the scabbard. He handed it to Ezra once Standish was on his feet. Ezra nodded his thanks and then turned his attention to the children. 

"Such a lovely family," he said as he smiled on the toddler. "Delightful."

"This is Elisabeth," Aida said, picking up the little one, "But we call her Bunny. Noel! Winnie!" she called to the two children on the porch. The boy and girl scampered down the stairs and stood beside their mother. The boy was no more than seven and the girl was probably five. They smiled shyly at the newcomers.

"This is Mr. Standish and Mr. Larabee. You remember your father telling you about them."

"Hello," Noel said, ducking his head and kicking at the dirt. Winnie said nothing but watched them with wide, dark eyes, staring first at Chris' somber clothing and then turning her gaze on Ezra's bright attire.

Aida looked wistfully at her shy children and continued, "We've heard so much about both of you, about all of you -- you and the other men who protect the town. There's a great many people that owe their lives to you."

Noel grabbed his sister by the arm and whispered urgently into her ear. "They're those lawmen. They got guns. They kill people." He looked up suddenly as if he was afraid of being misinterpreted. "Just the bad people is who they shoot."

Winnie wrenched her arm out of her brother's grip and struggled to get behind him. Noel, not wanting to be in the open, wrestled with his younger sister for the more protected rear position.

"My dear boy," Ezra drawled mildly, "You are correct. We save our bullets for the miscreants and malefactors." He nodded to the two children. "You have nothing to fear while my compatriot and I are about."

The two stopped their struggling and looked at Ezra in astonishment. Chris figured that the two didn't have a clue in regard to what was just said to them, but they seemed to like the sound of it. Little Bunny chewed on the ends of her mother's apron strings. 

"Ezra, I'll see to the horses," Chris said. "Why don't you go on in and get off your feet."

"Yes, come with me, Mr. Standish. We'll take care of you," Aida said. 

Chris waited as the family led Standish into the house. Once they were within, Chris sighed and looked around the property, remembering the last time he had been here.

He and Vin had come to inspect the house the day after the murders -- after the rain had fallen and washed away any clue. What they found was blood, broken windows and a half-completed meal -- a family disrupted -- the remnants of lives ended -- and the beginning of a red rage that only recently had left the gunslinger.

Seeing to the horses was more work than Chris had bargained for. Chaucer was being stubborn. First the horse wouldn't move, wanting to keep an eye on the doorway where Ezra had vanished. When Chris was finally able to pull the horse away, the animal trotted rather quickly to the water trough to have his fill, and had to be forced to leave it. After that, he pulled away from Larabee and wander off into the kitchen garden to try a sample of the tender lettuce.

Chris just barely grabbed the loose reins in time to keep the chestnut from looting the garden. 

The horse kept nickering and stretching his neck toward the little fenced off space, eager to drag Larabee along with him to get toward the tasty treats. 

"Hold up, ya stupid pain-in-the-neck," Larabee grumbled, trying to control the animal. "Come on now." It took some work, but Chris was finally able to get both horses into the corral outside the barn and shut the gate behind them.

"Don't know how he manages that creature," Chris muttered. "That horse is more trouble than it's worth."

 

Part 6:

"Good ta see ya, Lewis," Edgar Wahl said as he stretched. "Hey, Gil,"

Gil and Lewis struggled to drag the tall cowboy into the cell. Lewis grunted with the weight and then turned to Wahl. "So, how's it been, Eggs?"

"How's it been?" Wahl muttered, picking up Wilmington's gun from the floor and shoving it under his belt. "It's been horrible, Lew. Got railroaded in that trial."

Gil helped to lift Wilmington onto the cot. "I hear tell that you stood in front of that jury and told 'em straight-out what you done."

Wahl shrugged. "The damn judge wouldn't listen. McCannon deserved what he got. The bastard owed me money -- a thousand dollars. I just come to get what was mine and the idiot stood in the way. Why that Travis didn't set me free, I'll never know."

"Well, I 'spect you got us to do that," Lewis said as he draped the blanket over Wilmington. "Hey, Eggs, think anyone will notice that this ain't you?"

Wahl cocked his head at the covered lawman. "It'll do. They've been treatin' me like I got the plague or somethin'. Won't nobody take a second look at that bed." The freed prisoner took Buck's jacket from the back of the chair and pulled it on. He then picked up the hat from the top of the file cabinet and settled it on his head.

"Hey, lookie, Lewis!" Gil nodded to his cohort. "We got ourselves a lawman here."

Wahl grinned at the attention and tugged on the edges of Buck's jacket. "It should be enough to get me out of here. Ya bring me a horse?"

"Yeah, they're all just outside. Shouldn't be no trouble at all," Gil said as he and Lewis exited the cell and closed the door behind them. The lock clicked as it engaged.

"Let's get goin' then. I got some unfinished business to take care of," Wahl stated briskly. "A matter of a thousand dollars."

Lewis groaned, "Now, Eggs, ya know we come here just to spring you. It's time we got on out of the territory. Won't make no sense to go barking up that tree again."

Wahl gave Lewis a long-suffering look and said, "The money is mine, Lew, and I aim to get it back. 'Sides, if you expect to get some sort of a reward for this, we're gonna have to go get it. McCannon was about as predictable a man as ever been created. That money is still on the premises."

"Then why didn't you get it the first time you was there?" Gil asked.

Wahl ran the back of his hand over his mouth and his eyes carried a far away look. "Got distracted," he muttered.

The three men left the jail and stood a moment on the boardwalk, watching the bustling crowds, and then they mounted their horses and were gone.

 

Part 7:

When Chris entered the kitchen, he found Ezra delighting the children with card tricks. Little Bunny was perched on his lap while Noel and Winnie sat on either side of him, their eyes glowing with enchantment.

Larabee wasn't the type of man to be envious of another, but he did envy the way Ezra had with children. A few minutes ago the three had been shy tots, clinging to their mother. Now they belonged heart and soul to the cardsharp. Larabee watched with a smile as Ezra performed another feat of magic -- pulling an Ace of Spades out of thin air and making it disappear just as quickly.

The older children gasped and clapped. The youngest, apparently, just wanted to chew on the cards. Ezra let her have a joker to save the rest of the deck. She'd look up from time to time to see why her siblings were cheering and she would clap along with them, flailing the soggy card. After looking about for a moment, she would return to examining the image of the joker.

"Mr. Larabee," Aida said. "Please have a seat. My husband should be here shortly and then we'll have lunch. You're in luck. Henry's been seeing to the milk-cows that arrived today and so we're eating a bit later than usual."

"Anythin' I can do to help, ma'am?" Chris asked as the woman returned to the wood stove.

"Actually, Mr. Standish is doing me a tremendous favor, keeping the children occupied."

Chris sat back and watched as Ezra played with the children. Standish had a certain way of speaking to them, he noticed. Most people, when they spoke to kids, treated them either as little pets -- too precious to be true -- or as something hardly worth paying attention to. Ezra dealt with the children as if they were his equals, listening to their questions and ideas... weighing his answers seriously and giving them well thought out replies. He spoke to them... not at them. He devoted his attention entirely to them, making the children feel important.

The children ate it up. 

Where'd you learn how to do that, Ez? Chris thought. Standish treated the children so civilly, it made the gunslinger wonder about the gambler's childhood. Had Ezra been treated in the same fine manner or had it been the opposite? Did Ezra behave toward these children in the way he had only dreamed of being treated himself?

"Aida?" they heard a voice urgently call from the yard. "Aida! Are you all right? Aida?" A man rushed into the kitchen and came to a halt when he saw the scene.

Aida quickly went to the man and took up his hands. "Everything is fine, Henry. This is Mr. Ezra Standish and Mr. Chris Larabee," she said, indicating the two men.

Henry's tense look finally dropped and he released his wife to shake hands with both of the men. He had the same dark hair as his elder daughter, the same dark brown eyes. "My Lord, you gave me a start. I saw the strange horses in the yard and I ... well...I..." His gaze fell upon his children that were crowded around Ezra. "The mind sometimes thinks the worst..." He left it at that.

"Understandable," Chris replied.

"I've been meanin' to come by and see you both, and that Mr. Tanner too," Bonham continued. "I just wanted to thank you all for everything you've done for Aida's sister and her family."

Aida nodded. "It was such a tragedy. We just wanted to thank you and let you know how sorry we are for what happened."

"Sorry?" Ezra asked, perplexed. "You? My good lady, you shouldn't be sorry for us. You lost your dear sister and brother-in-law, your nieces and nephew, all due to the fact that..."

"Ezra," Chris said, cutting him off.

"When we heard about what had happened to you and Mr. Tanner, we were both horrified," Aida said, sitting down at the table. "First to lose Patrice, Albert and their children, and then for you and your friend to suffer because of our tragedy."

"I'm only sorry that it couldn't have been averted in the first place," Ezra replied quietly.

Aida smiled sadly and nodded. "I was meanin' to send you some of my soda biscuits. I'll make some up to take back with you."

Henry kissed his wife and said, "She does make the best soda biscuits in the territory."

"I’ll be looking forward to the delicacy," Ezra drawled.

Aida returned to preparing the meal while Ezra continued to astound the children. Chris and Henry discussed the family's recent move and how they were settling into the house. Aida was the only living relative of either Patrice or Albert and had inherited the land and the buildings. 

The Bonhams had been living in rented rooms in Tucson up until that point and had welcomed the move.

In a few minutes, lunch was ready. Noel and Winnie demanded to sit on either side of Ezra. Bunny cried and fought when her mother pulled her from the gambler's lap, but she became fascinated by her spoon once she was transferred to her highchair.

The family and the two lawmen shared a companionable meal with each other, not knowing what was approaching them.

 

Part 8:

"Hey, Buck!" JD shouted as he entered the jail. He frowned when he saw no one on guard. He gazed into the cell, noting the prisoner curled up under a blanket on the cot. "Buck?" he called, looking about for a minute before stepping back onto the boardwalk. Jed Green was standing at the doorway of his store, watching the tides of people flow past.

"Mr. Green?" JD called as he stepped up to the shopkeeper. "Mr. Green, you see Buck lately?"

Green nodded. "Yeah, rode off with a couple of fellows."

"When'd he do that?"

"Been a while." Green shrugged. "I ain't been payin' much attention to that. I've been busy here tryin' to protect my business from looters." He curled his lip at a man who seemed to want to enter the store...but seeing the look on Green's face the man turned abruptly and continued on his way.

"Gee, you'd think you'd have lots of customers with all these folks."

"Well, yeah." Green looked indecisive. "'Cept if I let 'em in, they might bust up the place. I figger it's better to keep 'em out."

JD wasn't sure if he agreed with Green, and he really didn't care. Buck rode off with a couple of guys? That didn't sound right. The sheriff darted back into the jail and checked on the prisoner.

Wahl was asleep. Well, that's good, JD thought. I won't have to listen to him while I'm here. Still, it don't mean that Buck should be out. At least no one's come in since Buck took off. Dang, that would'a been somethin' if I came on in here and found Wahl was gone.

The door swung open and JD turned to face the visitor, ready for trouble. He slapped his hands on his guns and prepared himself to draw.

"Mr. Dunne," the gray-haired gentleman said with a surprised look on his face.

"Judge Travis," JD exclaimed, and then pulled his Colts, twirling them quickly before returning them to his holsters, to let out the tension in his hands. "Didn't expect you."

"So I surmised," the judge said as he approached the cell. He regarded the prisoner with a cold eye. "I was looking for Mr. Larabee," he stated.

"Oh," JD shrugged. "I ain't seen 'im today."

"Mr. Jackson said that he was looking for Mr. Standish."

"Ezra? Really?" JD looked astonished and then grinned. "He get away from Nathan finally?"

The judge shook his head and stated, "Standish does have a talent for escapes."

"I ain't seen him, but I'm wonderin' where Buck's gone off to. I hear he rode off with a couple of guys, but that don't seem right. We'd better find 'em soon, 'cause this crowd ain't gonna get any easier to handle with nightfall."

Travis nodded his agreement. "I think you boys are in for a passel of trouble. Best muster the troops and get a plan into action."

"Yeah," JD agreed and sat down on the desk to glare at the prisoner. He wished Buck were there and that all of this was over with. He banged his feet on the desk and stared at the still form in the cell.

 

Part 9:

"Delectable," Ezra said luxuriously as he set down his spoon. "The best meal I have eaten in ages and a much finer repast than is available in other establishments. Mrs. Bonham, you are a superb cook."

Aida blushed and said, "Why, thank you, Mr. Standish. I'm afraid it's rather simple. We weren't expecting guests."

"Don't worry about that," Chris said as he mopped up his soup with a piece of hearty bread. "What you made here is just what the doctor ordered." He glanced at Ezra who raised an eyebrow at that comment. "Mighty tasty."

Henry smiled at his wife. "She's truly a treasure... and beautiful, too."

Aida's blush increased and she picked up a towel and fluttered it at her husband. "Now you stop that, Henry Bonham!" She turned to her guests and stated, "You all may be more comfortable on the porch than in this stuffy kitchen. Henry, why don't you take our guests there?"

Henry nodded and shooed the children to their chores, then nodded the way to Ezra and Chris. Ezra stood unsteadily, grabbing for the cane before following Bonham out the front door. Chris noticed that Ezra was weaving as he walked, but at least he had eaten a decent meal. Lord, Chris thought, Standish must have eaten more in that one sitting that he had put in his mouth all week.

The front porch was breezy and mild and, as Aida had promised, much less stuffy than the kitchen. Ezra settled himself on one of the benches and Chris stood by the porch railing.

Henry smiled nervously. "I hate to be a bad host, but I need to go check on the stock. Just got us some milk-cows today and I think one of 'em's a bit on the ornery side. If you'd excuse me for a spell, I'll amble off that way..." When Henry received a nod from his guests he jumped down from the porch and hurried around the back of the house.

The two lawmen sat in silence for a moment before Chris spoke up. "It's a nice place -- a real fine place."

"It is, indeed, a fine place. The Bonham family should be happy to have such a home." Ezra leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

Chris kept his gaze on Standish. "Why'd you come here?" he asked.

"I felt the need to see this homestead again."

"Ya could've waited a bit."

"No, I needed to see it now. After hearing Mr. Wahl's endless recitation of what happened, I needed to see..."

"So that you could figure out what you could 'ave done to stop it?"

Ezra opened his eyes a crack and looked at the gunslinger before he closed his eyes again with a sigh.

"Ezra," Chris stood beside the tired man. "I thought we had this figured out."

"And what is that, Mr. Larabee? What did we have figured out?"

"That you weren't at fault for what happened here."

Ezra smiled and said, "Not at fault, no." He lowered his voice and looked out of slitted eyes, glancing to the doorway. "I do realize that it was Mr. Wahl who pulled the trigger, who saw fit to destroy the lovely family who once lived here. But I also realize that if I had been less diverted, I would've been here in time to save them."

Ezra shifted his narrowed gaze to Larabee and continued. "And now they are dead. It's a crime to deprive the world of those children -- such innocence; to deprive Mrs. Bonham of her sister and extended family. If I'd been less concerned with my own enjoyment, they could all still be alive today. If I hadn't allowed myself to be drawn in so deeply, Mr. Tanner and myself would've escaped our own grave injuries. If I had been less of a snake..." Ezra paused, closing his eyes again and furrowing his brow.

"Now Ezra," Larabee growled, "that ain't right."

"Your own words, Mr. Larabee, and well chosen," Ezra continued, "If I'd been less of a snake, then the Bonham children would've had a chance to grow up, knowing their cousins. If I had been less of a snake, Mrs. McCannon would've seen to the rearing of her family and this world would've been blessed by their addition. If I'd been less of a snake, then Ginny and Linda, those little girls, would never have known such horror, would never have ended their lives in such..." he stopped talking, drawing his lips tight.

"Damn it, Ezra," Chris sighed, and sat down beside the cardsharp. "When the hell were you planning on leaving Eagle Bend on that day?"

"I'd planned to leave after breakfast, but was diverted due to my own lack of moral fortitude."

"And when did you eat your damn breakfast? I know you don't rise before 10:00 if you can help it."

"I arose at 10:00 as you surmised. Enjoyed an agreeable repast..."

"And were planning on getting on the trail by when...11:00?"

"If I had not been distracted."

"Even if you left exactly when you were plannin' to go, you wouldn't have made it here in time," Chris said quietly. He watched Ezra's face, looking for a sign that Ezra understood what was being said. "They must'a been killed at about the time you were planning to leave Eagle Bend."

"If I had awoken earlier..."

"Damn it, Ezra," Chris growled between his teeth. "You're gonna eat a hole in your gut if you go on that way. If I had left Mexico sooner... if I hadn't gone at all..."

Ezra fully opened his eyes and looked at Chris curiously. He spoke solemnly, "I had no intention of comparing this situation to your own, Mr. Larabee. Please accept my most humble apologies if that is how it appeared."

"God, Ezra," Chris muttered. "I ain't comparing anything here."

"The pain and sorrow you suffered at the loss of your wife and child cannot compare to my own feelings. You lost so much and I lost nothing at all." Ezra sat up and rested the palms of his hands on the bench. "I've never had a connection to anyone that equals the one you lost, not by a long shot. I've never cared for anyone to such a degree, nor have I received such concern in return. There is, indeed, no one who would mourn my loss."

"You don't mean that."

Ezra smiled mildly at Larabee and continued. "It's a necessary matter of my profession. I cannot make strong ties to anyone or anything. A 'tie' by its very definition is meant to bind and to hold in place. I cannot be so encumbered. It's rather amusing really that I should be so bothered by this incident. It is, in fact, something that should hardly register with me. I didn't know the McCannons, truly, didn't know them at all. Their deaths, in fact, are of no consequence to me. Now, if McCannon had owed me money..."

"So, you're just a cold-hearted son-of-a-bitch?"

"It's exactly what I mean to be."

"A damn snake in the grass?"

"Precisely."

"Ezra," Chris grumbled.

Ezra suddenly stiffened beside him. "Riders," he said, nodding toward the approaching shapes.  
Larabee stood and squinted at the distant images. "It's just Buck," he said after a moment of inspection.

Ezra watched the approaching horsemen. "If it's Buck, then why's he riding another man's horse?"

Chris kept his gaze on what was coming. Yes, it was the wrong horse, but maybe Buck's gray had thrown a shoe -- wasn't ready for a ride for some reason -- that was easy to explain. But who were those other two men? The man in Buck’s clothing didn’t ride like the gunslinger’s friend.

Ezra continued, "And why would Mr. Wilmington see fit to leave the town, seein' as how you are already errant in your obligation and there’s a need for lawmen to protect the town at present. Why hasn't he shouted a greeting yet, as his is custom." Ezra glanced at Larabee and said, "Perhaps we should alert Mr. Bonham and his family. There may be a place of safety here for them. Perhaps..." 

"Get inside, Ezra," Chris said suddenly, feeling the hairs stand up on the back of his neck.

 

Part 10:

Ow...dang...Buck furrowed his brow. Shit, that hurt. He groaned and tried to roll over, but was assaulted with a wave of dizziness and nausea. He decided to lay still. His stomach was currently at odds with his body and his head wasn't happy at all.

He could hear voices talking...JD and someone else... who was it? Oh yeah, that would be the judge. Damn, why did his head hurt so badly? He must have gone on one hell of a binge. Those two talking didn't help his headache any.

He groaned again. His whole head ached -- what the hell happened? Last thing he remembered was ... watching Wahl...two men came in. "Goddamn..." Buck muttered.

"Quiet down in there," JD shouted and banged against the bars, making Wilmington wince. "I ain't gonna listen to you no more. Don't want to hear you cursin' neither."

"What the hell?" Buck opened his eyes and stared at the back wall of the cell. How did I...? "Ah shit," he grumbled.

"What did I tell you? You just shut your mouth in there," JD yelled again, his voice ringing in Buck's head with unnecessary vengeance.

Buck rolled over slowly. "You stop that yellin', kid," he said thickly as he managed to pull back the blanket to blink at Dunne and Judge Travis -- both of whom looked rather startled.

"Buck?" JD gasped out.

"Mr. Wilmington!" The judge stepped to the cell and stared at the man who was trying to sit up.

JD grabbed the keys and hurriedly unlocked the door. "Omigod! Omigod! What happened?"

"Where's Wahl?" the judge put in.

Buck moaned and held his head in his hands. "Couple of guys... caught me off guard. Hit me." Buck touched the back of his head and instantly pulled his hand away. "Shit that hurts!"

JD had reached Buck by now, his eyes wide. "You okay, Buck?"

"Better step back, kid," Buck said, squinting his eyes.

"Why?"

"'Cause I'm gonna puke."

 

Part 11:

Chris tried not to run through the house, but he quickened his pace until he reached the kitchen where Aida and her children still remained.

"Mr. Larabee?" she asked, and seeing the look on his face became instantly quiet.

"You got a storm cellar…root cellar?" he asked, and received a nod in response. "Get ready to go there if I give the word." Again, she nodded, reaching out and drawing her children close.

Chris continued out the back door and shouted in the direction the farmer had taken. He could see Henry among a small group of cows, some distance away. "Bonham! Bonham!" But the young farmer didn't lift his head. Damn, Chris thought, and headed back to the house.

Aida was on the back porch now, her three children huddled around her.

"Ma'am," Chris said. "It's probably nothing, but you and your kids here may want to step into that cellar for a bit." Aida nodded wordlessly, her face pale as she tugged the children along behind her, toward the door to the storm cellar.

Larabee headed back through the house, hoping to see Ezra within. He swore, not seeing him. He emerged on the front porch again, still no Standish. The riders were much closer now, close enough to make it obvious that the man in Buck's coat was not Buck at all.

Chris felt a cold hatred pass through him as he recognized Edgar Wahl. The murderer that had caused so much trouble was on the loose. "Ezra!" Chris hissed as he walked to the porch rail, keeping his eye on the approaching men. He caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head toward the motion. Ezra was at one of the outbuildings, raising two fingers to Larabee as he held his gun ready.

Larabee didn't like the idea, but he knew that it would to be better if they split up -- to better cover the area and to protect the family. Damn, this wasn't going to be good. He met Ezra's eyes and the two exchanged a nod. They were ready.

Chris turned back to the approaching men. "That's close enough!" he shouted and the three horsemen came to a halt. "Put down your weapons and give yourselves up." Wahl was insane. Getting Wahl to stop would be difficult. Chris just hoped he could get through to the other two men at least. What part did they have in this? he wondered.

"Is that Larabee?" Wahl shouted back. "Good to see ya, pard."

"Where the hell is Buck?!" Larabee returned, eyeing the familiar jacket and hat, keeping his hand ready to draw.

Wahl grinned. "May be dead. Don't know for sure. Lewis hit 'im kinda hard."

Buck! Larabee thought, feeling his hatred for the man only intensify.

"Look, I don't want to waste a lot of time here. Why don't you step aside and let me and the boys get what we want and we won't have to kill you."

Chris nodded to the other two horsemen. "Why don't you two lay down your weapons and let justice be served on this animal."

Wahl's smile never dipped. "There's three of us Larabee, and only one of you. What good do you think that'll do?"

"You should revise your count," they heard a voice calmly drawl. The three riders turned to see the other man at the outbuilding. Chris' gaze didn't flicker from Wahl or his associates.

"Standish?" Wahl laughed. "My God, Standish, my amigo! It's good to see you again. I thought for sure that I'd seen you breathe your last, but yer boys kept sayin' that you were alive. I couldn't quite believe it myself."

"I would do as Mr. Larabee says and set down your weapons. He's rather fast on the draw." Ezra looked at the two other men. "Certainly, gentlemen, you don't wish to hang alongside your companion. If you were to end this now, you may escape death by the noose... or the more probable death by bullet."

Lewis and Gil looked to each other. The house was supposed to be unoccupied. They hadn't gotten into this to be shot at by the law. They had heard about Larabee and knew about his speed. There were rumors about Standish's accuracy...that he could put six bullets into the same hole.

Neither of the men wanted to die.

Wahl glared at his companions and saw the indecision in their eyes. With one quick move, he raised his gun and fired.

Lewis' mare screamed as she lurched backward. Lewis tried to get Princess under control, but the horse collapsed, giving her rider hardly any time to leap out of the way. A second bullet brought down Gil's sturdy roan.

The action was so unexpected that Larabee didn't know how to react. At the sight of the gun, his own weapon had leapt to his hand, but with the screaming of the horses and the startled cries from the men, Larabee was, for a few seconds, uncertain who to aim his gun at. Wahl had not fired at a person yet, had shot only animals -- Wahl was an animal.

Larabee raised his weapon to fire, but the murderer had turned his horse and was riding away. Chris held his aim on the man's back. He's a killer...Chris thought. He's killed children -- a mother, a father, destroyed a family, shot Vin -- threw everything to hell. 

He held his aim, remembering his code to never shoot a man in the back, but could this creature be truly called a man? He couldn't let that murdering son-of-a-bitch get away.

The crack of a shot and wood splintering by his head brought his attention back to the other men. Gil and Lewis were crouched down behind the bodies of their dead mounts, firing at the porch. 

Damn it all! He thought, returning the fire.

He heard a sharp whistle and a moment later saw Ezra streaking off on his chestnut gelding, chasing down the departing Wahl. 

No! Chris thought...stay put! But at the same time, he realized that Wahl should never be allowed to get away and that Ezra was the only one who could reach the horses to do the job.

Lewis and Gil looked up too and would have taken out Standish if Larabee hadn't provided him cover. "Damn it... damn it... damn it!" Chris muttered.

Ezra was soon out of range and the two outlaws returned their attention fully to Larabee. Chris glanced up at the departing horses when he was able, praying that Ezra would be all right.

 

Part 12:

"Shut up!" Buck groaned, rubbing his pain-filled head. "Won't ya jus' shush for a bit?"

Nathan stepped back and examined his handiwork. He had bandaged Wilmington's head, but knew there was little more to do at this point beside keep Buck still and have a bucket nearby.

"You should be okay, Buck. Just don't stand up for a bit. You'll just be on the floor again in a minute."

Buck glared at the healer and tried to push himself to his feet. He wobbled before collapsing back onto the jail's cot. His stomach roiled and he groaned in his misery.

"Stay put," Nathan admonished.

"Gotta get Wahl," Buck moaned. "God, how could I let 'im get away?"

Josiah leaned against the bars and said, "JD, Nathan and I will do the looking."

"I'm goin'!" Buck insisted, but didn't move from his position.

"You need to stay, Buck," JD said. "Gotta have someone guard the jail still."

"Ain't nothin' to guard!" Buck shouted and then thought better of it as the sound reverberated through his skull.

"I'm afraid they don't know that," Judge Travis stated, nodding to the crowded street. "And the longer you keep up this façade, the better chance you'll have of keeping the peace. If this group discovers that Mr. Wahl has escaped..."

Buck grimaced and realized that they were right. "So you leavin' me to pretend to watch the jail. Meanwhile, nobody'll be watchin' the town?"

Travis picked up a rifle that leaned against the wall and said, "I believe I'll be capable of providing protection." The four men looked at him and the judge continued, "I am more than capable of handling this weapon." There was no denying the fact that Judge Travis looked formidable with the rifle in his hand.

"How 'bout I do my guardin' from the boardwalk outside?" Buck said. "Least ways I can keep an eye on things that way."

They needed all the help they could get. A chair was placed just in front of the doorway to the jail, then Josiah and Nathan discreetly settled Buck onto it.

JD, Nathan and Josiah left the jail a few minutes later, heading toward the livery. Nathan paused before he entered. "I'd better take a quick look in at Vin. I've got a sinking suspicion..."

The suspicion was well founded. They found Vin halfway to the door, leaning against Nathan's desk and breathing raggedly.

"Vin! What d'you think you're doin'?" Nathan growled. "What the hell did I tell you? Don't you listen to a word I say?"

"Well," Tanner said, quieting his breathing. "After hearing JD tell what happened, I figured you boys needed a bit of a hand."

"Josiah, get this fool back in bed," Nathan ordered.

Josiah raised an eyebrow. "If we set him up on the balcony with a rifle..."

"I was thinkin' the same," Vin responded.

"He's got a point there, Doc," JD said. "We can use the extra gun."

Nathan shook his head. "Fine! Fine! Just don't come complainin' to me if you feel like hell for all this nonsense." The healer grabbed a chair and headed out the door, leaving Josiah and JD to get the tracker through the door and to his vantage-point. It took a few minutes, but they soon had Vin set up with a rifle in his lap.

Nathan headed down the stairs without looking back. JD was close behind.

Josiah started to follow, but he turned and asked Tanner, "You got any idea of where Wahl may have gone to?"

"I'm thinkin' he either lit out of town as quick as a rabbit and you boys'll never find 'im... or..." Vin winced slightly as a flare of pain shot through his chest.

"Vin?"

"Or maybe he returned to the scene of the crime. Sounds as peculiar as hell, but you'd be surprised at how many..." Vin caught the expression on Josiah's face. "What's wrong, J'siah?"

"Buck received a message sayin' that Chris was chasin' Ezra back toward Eagle Bend."

Vin bit his lip. "Same general area."

"Yeah." Josiah nodded grimly.

"Better hurry. They got some time on ya."

Josiah nodded brusquely and ran down the stairs after Nathan and JD.

 

Part 13:

When Ezra saw Wahl shoot down the horses and spur his mount to a gallop, he knew what he had to do. He would not let Wahl get away, not this time. He had let the man loose once and Vin almost died due to his ineptitude. He called Chaucer, mounted and took off after the murderer.

His heart pounded as he chased after Edgar Wahl. He was closing the distance. He held the reins tightly with one hand, more to keep his balance than to guide the horse. His other hand gripped his gun. He had raised it more than once at the fleeing man, firing after him, but not hitting a mark. Damnation, Ezra thought at his lack of accuracy. He could hardly see straight or hold the gun steady. Wahl had fired blindly back at him, and Ezra could only pray that none of the bullets would hit him.

Ezra remembered how only a few days ago he had taken a similar ride, riding for his life, for Vin's life, trying to get back to Four Corners in time. His head was pounding again and exhaustion was reaching for him.

Suddenly, Wahl's horse balked, coming to a hellishly quick stop and throwing Wahl over his back. The killer was launched into the air, flailing his arms for a moment before crashing downward. He disappeared from sight. 

It was an impressive sight that baffled Ezra for a moment.

The irrigation canal! Ezra had forgotten it existed. The farmers in the area had dug it out several years ago to capture the precious rainwater. This time of year it would be nearly empty.

Ezra pulled Chaucer to a stop alongside Wahl's winded horse. The startled animal threw back its head and took off, following the channel toward the west. Ezra aimed his weapon down into the waterway. His head was spinning now, and he had to grip the pommel of his saddle to keep in place. Spots showed in his vision.

Wahl was trying to get to his feet in the shallow water --no more than a foot at its deepest section. "Mr. Wahl, I believe it's time to give yourself up."

Wahl stood slowly in the murky stream, holding up his hands with a chagrined look on his mud-plastered face. The felon was brown from head to foot in the stuff. 

Ezra gestured with his gun. "Slowly, Mr. Wahl, won't you make your way to me."

"Can't hardly move," Wahl said with a laugh as he stepped through the thick sludge at the bottom of the meager channel. He chuckled, climbing up the steep bank. He came to stand beside the man and horse. "Man, what a ride!"

Ezra blinked at him, and shook his head in an attempt to drive away the approaching exhaustion. All he wanted to do was to lie down and sleep. It was as if a fog had settled in his brain.

Ezra released his hold on the pommel to pull a pair of handcuffs from his saddle. Wahl, seeing his chance, lurched forward and yanked the failing man from his saddle.

Ezra yelped in surprise, damning himself for once again being taken so easily. The two men tumbled into the canal.

 

Part 14:

"AIDA!"

Chris heard Bonham's cry as the farmer ran at a breakneck speed across the land and toward the sound of gunfire.

"Get down, Bonham!" Chris yelled as he saw the man approach.

Henry was wide-eyed and senseless as he hurtled toward the gunmen, armed with nothing more than a stick.

"What have you done with 'em? What have you done?"

"STOP! Bonham! HENRY!" Henry came into range of the two men who were crouched behind the dead horses. Finally, out of options, Chris fired at the farmer, just ahead of his feet.

Bonham leapt in surprise and then spun around to face Larabee.

"Get down! Damn it! Get down!"

Chris heard Gil laugh and a bullet whizzed past Bonham's ear. The stick fell to the ground as Henry whipped his head around. The farmer fell and covered his head with his hands.

"Get out of the way!" Chris shouted. "Your family's okay! Get to cover!"

At Chris' words, Bonham's panicked expression changed to an inappropriately goofy smile and he scuttled away, toward the back of the house.

Chris returned his attention to the two carcasses and the men behind them -- shortly to become carcasses themselves if this kept up. "You boys gonna be givin' up?"

"I think not," Lewis called. "There's two of us here and jus' one of you that's got a gun. I think it's you that should be givin' up."

Gil fired and Chris had to duck behind the overthrown bench. Both Gil and Lewis put up a barrage, splintering the meager cover. During a pause in the gunfire, Chris leaned out, putting a few more holes in Gil's roan.

Damn, this is going to take forever, Chris thought. He hoped to hell that Ezra was all right. He had heard the gunfire as Ezra chased Wahl across the dry plane. If that piece of shit hurts 'im, Chris thought. Larabee glared out over the bench and regarded exactly how he would deal out his revenge upon Wahl.

 

Part 15:

The two men tumbled down the steep bank and into the shallow water below. Ezra had lost his grip on his Remington. It was somewhere above them now. The only good thing about that was that Wahl couldn't get his hands on it. The Colt Richards Conversion had been emptied during the chase.

Wahl was laughing. "Come on, Standish," he chuckled. "Let's call a truce, huh? You and me can work out some sort of a deal, can't we? You can get a cut of the cash, too. You'd like that, wouldn't ya?" He tried to keep a grip on Ezra, but what with the mud and Ezra's naturally slippery nature, Standish shifted out of the man's hands and came up fighting.

"You can go to hell," Ezra responded.

Wahl was stunned when the first blow hit him squarely on his pug nose. The second blow came to his stomach as he tried to protect his face. The third hit him above the ear and by then, Wahl was dazed and pissed.

He swung wide and missed the quickly moving gambler, but the muddy ground and a reluctant leg slowed down Standish. When Wahl launched himself at the cardsharp, it was easy enough to catch Ezra and slam his back into the squelchy riverbed and beneath the surface of the water.

 

Part 16:

"Wait! Wait!" Larabee shouted when the two men stopped firing to reload.

"What?" Gil yelled back.

"I just want to know something."

"Yeah, what's that?" Lewis returned.

"What are you two gettin' out of this? You've already lost your horses. You're about ready to lose your lives. What exactly are you gettin' out of this?"

"We're gettin' a cut of the grand!" Gil shouted.

"Shut it!" Lewis ordered.

"Grand?" Larabee asked. "Wahl doesn't have any money."

"Yeah, but McCannon did. Wahl says it's still here. We came to get it." Gil explained. "Wahl says it's his and he came to claim it."

"It ain't his!" Bonham's voice suddenly piped in, just inside the doorway. Chris jumped, startled to hear the voice so close. "It's mine and my family's!"

"Ain't!" Lewis yelled.

"IS!" Bonham returned.

"Wahl says it's his," Lewis countered.

"Yeah!" Gil said, trying to back up their claim on things.

"Court says it was Albert McCannon's and I got the paper to prove it."

"I don't give a shit about no paper," Gil said tiredly. "I want that money and I want it now!"

"Ain't here no more!"

"What're you sayin'?" Gil sat up and Larabee had to hold back the urge to shoot the fool's head off.

"I bought me those milk-cows and paid for the move and the funeral and bought the kids some clothes 'n toys and stuff, and some pretty things for Aida, and I got me a watch -- a good one like the train engineers use. The rest I put up for later. It's in the bank," Bonham voice called from within the house.

"What?" Lewis sat up this time, looking over the body of his dead mount. "What you do that fer?"

"The money was lef' to Aida in the Will."

"It ain't here?" Gil was incredulous.

"No, it's mostly gone."

"Boys," Larabee said, breaking up the conversation. "Put up your guns and give up. I can pick off either of you right now. You may as well live."

The two looked at each other and then tossed their guns away.

Chris stood slowly and walked to the men with Bonham following. Not moving his gaze from the men, he picked up their guns and handed one to Bonham. Larabee jerked the men to their feet and dragged them to the front of the house, shoving them against the first step.

"Bonham, keep this gun trained on 'em." Larabee hustled to the corral where Job was pacing anxiously. He took the time to retrieve his handcuffs and secure the two men to each other, using the roof support to keep them in place. He returned to Job, mounted quickly and headed out after Ezra.

Larabee threw the farmer an encouraging look as he passed him. Bonham smiled and tried to look brave as he held the weapon on the men. Lewis and Gil looked thoroughly disgusted.

 

Part 17:

Ezra struggled to get loose of Wahl, but the man's huge hands were wrapped around his neck, forcing him down under the surface of the shallow water. Ezra gripped onto Wahl's hands and tried to pry them loose from his neck, but Wahl's hands were like vises. Ezra could find no purchase. He tried to reach Wahl's face to gouge at his eyes, but the man had a better reach and his hands clawed at the air. 

Ezra strained his way upward, breaking the surface. He gasped as Wahl relaxed his grip. "Come on, Standish," Wahl uttered. "Don't fight so much. It won't be so bad." And then the man shoved him below the warm water, squeezing his neck in the process.

Ezra tried to get some leverage on the slippery ground beneath him, to kick the man off, but the mud worked against him at every turn. He attempted to use the slimy surface in his favor and slip out from under Wahl, but the man's weight was fully on him, trapping him.

Again, Ezra forced his way to the surface. 

"Relax and let it go," Wahl said softly, his voice dreamlike. "It's not as if they're gonna miss you any, those men you work with." Ezra gasped for air as Wahl continued. "You and me are the same that way. Ain't no one'll care once we're gone."

Ezra stared at Wahl in disbelief and tried to form a retort, but Wahl shoved him beneath the water's surface again, down into the thick mud of the riverbed. Standish struggled, Wahl's words ringing through his head. His strength was quickly waning as his heart thudded, as his lungs cried out for air. Above him, Ezra could hear the water-muffled sound of Wahl's laughter. The hands continued to squeeze at his throat. What's Wahl thinking? Does he really need to both strangle and drown me? 

He was pulled upward again and Wahl said, "I killed a kitten once, this very same way. No one wanted it either so I did the humane thing and put it down. It was a sweet little cat, but something had to be done." And Ezra was under the water once more.

He could feel himself starting to pass out when Wahl again yanked him up, shaking him violently once his head broke the surface. Ezra coughed and gagged and Wahl continued to laugh. Ezra's vision was spotty as he gulped in air. Wahl grinned merrily. "You and me, Standish. How 'bout the two of us team up? I bet we'd make great partners." Wahl held Ezra just above the water. "How 'bout it?"

"You're a twisted bastard," Ezra gasped and was shoved beneath the water again.

Wahl smiled as he submerged Standish. He tightened his grip on the man's throat, feeling that lovely pulse of life in his hands. The exertion made his wounded arm hurt, but it was a pleasant kind of pain, a wonderful pain. Standish had a narrow neck, easily circumscribed by his huge fingers. The gambler still struggled to get free of those fingers, still fought, although Wahl noticed that the effort was growing less vigorous.

He wondered if he should let Standish pass out completely and revive him before finally drowning him for good. How wonderful, he thought. It would be like killing someone over and over again. The rush...the excitement...the thrill of it all to be experienced repeatedly. He felt light-headed at the idea. Drown him... bring him back...drown him again.

The hands that were pulling at his were growing weaker. Standish would be unconscious soon. Life still pulsed in that neck. He wanted to end it, wanted to feel it end. He didn't have the patience to play this time...maybe the next. He quivered in anticipation. 

"Give it up, Standish," Wahl said, squeezing tighter. He bore Ezra no ill will -- no more so than the little tabby cat, but same as the cat, he needed Standish out of the way. He felt no hatred toward him, no feelings at all toward him in particular. Sure, Standish had shot him a few days ago... but the cat had scratched and that didn't affect his reasons for wanting to kill it. 

He honestly believed that he and Standish could make a fine team, but the game was playing out now and it was better if the lawman was to drown in this ditch. Wahl could feel the man dying away as the struggles lessened. He laughed and licked his lips, waiting for the final heartbeat to pulse in that narrow neck, wanting to capture it in his hands.

 

Part 18:

Ezra just couldn't manage it anymore. This was it... the end. He had no more energy left and he didn't think that Wahl would let him up again. He gave up his useless attempt to dislodge the man's hands. He had an ace up his sleeve --or rather a derringer. He hoped that the water hadn't dampened the firing mechanisms.

He let go of Wahl's wrists and raised his arm above the water’s surface, snapping the gun into his hand. Standish didn't see the surprised look on Wahl's face nor the fear as the murderer released his hold. The murderer tried to raise his hand to swat away the tiny gun that was suddenly pointed at his head. But, there was no time for Wahl to do anything except emit a pathetic little cry. 

The derringer fired a mere inch from his skull and Wahl crashed down lifelessly upon Ezra.

Thank God! Ezra thought. An incredible relief flooded through him. Dead... Wahl's dead...finally. He could feel Wahl's face against his own, the man's nose and lips pressed to his check. He didn't see the bright blood that flowed from the man's head, becoming mixed with the muddy water, turning dark and brown as the mud. 

Ezra shoved against Wahl's shoulders, trying to force the body off, but it was too heavy. He shuddered at the effort.

He was trapped...trapped below the surface of the water. Panicked, Ezra pushed against the dead man and was able to raise his face just above the water to gasp in more air before Wahl's weight forced him down again.

Have to get him off... have to move him. Ezra struggled against the body, but his strength had fled. He managed to lift his head again and breathe for a few short moments before gravity and exhaustion pulled him back beneath the surface.

Ezra would have cried at the irony if he were able. To have killed Wahl, to know that the man was finally dead, and yet to have it end this way. Wahl was having the last laugh -- killing the man who killed him. Wahl was going to win this one.

His neck quaked at the attempt to raise his head again. Just a few breaths, just a few... and his head fell back again to the squishy muddy creek bed. My God... my God.

And Ezra had lived most of his life around water... had been able to swim almost before he could walk. He loved water... always enjoyed the ability to take a dip in the ocean, a lake or a river...it relaxed him. He would spend hours crossing back and forth across the big pond on his Uncle Lucas' plantation. He felt free and safe when he swam -- no one could reach him in the water. He was a strong swimmer, capable of besting almost anyone in a race -- and here he was, about to drown, alone -- hopelessly alone, in a few meager inches of water.

He fought, raising his head and letting it fall. He couldn't tell how long this was going on, but he could feel the difficulty rising at each attempt. Just a few inches, Ezra. Only a few inches. You can move your head a few inches, can't you? Again and again, he counted the seconds that he stayed submerged, trying to build up his strength for the next attempt.

One more time, he told himself. You can do it again. He tried. He tried with all his might.

And failed.

 

Part 19:

Chris had heard the shot and pressed Job to a faster speed. Where the hell had they gone? Chaucer was riderless, just ahead of him, mincing about and looking downward. For a moment Larabee was confused as to what was going on. There was no sign of Ezra or Wahl...only the pacing chestnut. Then he remembered the canal that cut along the boarder of this property.

He reined in Job as he reached the edge of the near-dry waterway and drew his weapon before he gazing downward.

His attention was immediately drawn to the body, easily recognizable as Wahl, despite the mud and blood that coated it. "Ezra!" Chris shouted. Where the hell was he? Where did he go? Larabee looked back to Chaucer who moved about excitedly. The chestnut's gaze did not leave Wahl's back.

Chris' gaze fastened on a hand that seemed in a strange position, pressed against Wahl's shoulder. The water was too murky to see how the hand had gotten into that place; perhaps Wahl's arms were folded under him. But the hand seemed backward and Chris remembered that Wahl had such huge paws. This muddy hand was narrow.

"No, no, no," Larabee muttered, holstering his gun to run down the steep sides of the canal. "Oh God, please no!" He clambered down the bank as quickly as his legs would allow and grabbed hold of the dead man. Chris flung back Wahl's body, and seized the form beneath the nearly opaque water's surface. He yanked Standish upward.

Ezra made no response, showed no sign of life. "Breathe, you stubborn bastard!" Chris yelled, shaking Ezra frantically. He couldn't be too late...not this time...oh God, please not this time. Even with the plastering of mud, Chris could see the blue tinge to Ezra's slack features, a deathly stillness. He wrapped one arm around Standish, leaned him forward and started beating on his back. "Come on, Ez...don't do this to me! Come on back, Ez."

There was no reaction. Standish hung limp in his arm. "Damn it! No!" Chris shouted, increasing his efforts. Not like this. God, not like this. Oh God, please no. Larabee drew his arm back as far as he could and belted Ezra fiercely across the back.

 

Part 20:

It seemed that only a few seconds had passed since his failure to reach the air. Wahl was alive again. Ezra had felt the weight shift and wanted to strike out against the animal, but his body wouldn't work. Then hands grabbed hold of him and yanked him upward. Oh, please, not again. 

He tried to thrash, but his arms and legs were leaden. He wanted to breathe...God, he wanted to breathe, but his lungs just didn't seem to remember how the trick worked.

Something was hitting him fiercely on the back. An especially heavy blow struck him and suddenly his body seemed to recall the whole breathing process. He sucked in a quick breath and erupted in a volley of coughing.

Ezra continued to cough wildly. He was desperately trying to draw enough air into his lungs, but he couldn't seem to manage it before he broke off into another fit of coughing. Wahl, he thought...must get away from him. He tried to jerk his way out of the arm that held him and almost succeeded as something continued to beat on him.

Get away. He had to get away. Oh God, he didn't want to end like this.

 

Part 21:

"Ezra! It's me! It's Chris! Stop it!" Chris worriedly said, as he pounded on the cardsharp's back. Ezra didn't seem able to get any air into his lungs and it wasn't helping that he was fighting now "Damn it, Ezra. Just try to breathe deeply."

"Chris?" Standish gasped. 

"Yeah, it's me," Larabee replied anxiously.

Ezra accepted this fact. He grasped Chris' shirt and hung on. 

"Calm down, Ez," Chris said "It'll be okay. I got you now."

Ezra breathed deeply and was struck with another spate of coughing. He repeated it until the coughing lessened and he could actually begin to make use of the air.

Chris sighed as the gasping became less frantic, as the coughs seemed to be more productive instead of frenetic. His pounding became reassuring pats as Ezra continued to breathe easier, but hoarsely. Larabee's gaze drifted to the dead man beside them, flung up on the bank. He could see the damage done by a bullet to Wahl's temple.

"Scared me half to death," Chris murmured to the still panting gambler. "Thought the bastard had drowned you."

"I had drawn...the same... conclusion..." Ezra managed to say between gasps. He looked toward the body and said, "Judge Travis...will be... disappointed."

"He can learn to live with that."

"That he shall..."

Chris shook his head, remembering that only a few days ago Ezra had been struggling for air. He continued to pat the muddy man's back. He could see the angry bruise forming around Ezra's neck and glared at the body of Wahl.

"You gonna be okay?"

"Will be..." Ezra coughed again.

"You open to listenin' to me?"

"Do I...have a choice?"

"Nope."

"Carry on then..."

"Ain't had the chance to apologize to you properly."

"Apologize?" Ezra winced as something he coughed up landed on his already muddy sleeve. "You just ....saved me... from drowin'." His eyes fastened on that blob on his sleeve, his face wrinkled in disgust. "You feel the need...to apologize...for savin' me?"

Larabee growled, "I thought I'd have the advantage with you half out of breath."

"When it comes to words... Mr. Larabee... I always have the ... advantage."

"Well, shut your yap," Larabee said as Ezra rested his head against his chest, his hair all matted with the mud. Ezra's hands still clutched his shirt as if he were afraid of releasing the black cloth. It reminded Chris of Adam. When the boy had been awakened from a nap or was tired, he would cling to his father in the same manner.

"I treated you like crap, Ez.”

"You were distressed over the similarity..."

"Ain't no excuse for tryin' to hurt you." Chris could feel Ezra resting more of his weight against him. "And I did try, Ez. I admit it. I want to put things right."

"Right as rain..." Ezra murmured.

"And I got to get this through that thick head of yours that you ain't no snake, Ez."

"It is my profession..."

"Nah, not even that." 

"Can't be helped. Born to it. It's what I do best." 

"No, Ezra," Chris sighed, remembering what had happened a few days ago, how Ezra had nearly sacrificed his life in order to save Vin. "You're more than some damned 'profession' that your ma chose for you."

Chris continued to pat Ezra's back as the gambler broke into another series of coughs. Seeing that he currently had the advantage, Chris continued. "Ain't no snake, Ezra. Hell, those Bonham kids there were crawling all over you. Do you think they'd come to a cold-blooded reptile? You saved that family from Wahl.”

Ezra continued to cough as Larabee glanced up and caught sight of the chestnut horse, nervously pacing above them, knocking into Job from time to time and making the big black snort in warning. "Hell, Ezra, no horse I know would go anywhere near a snake. Yours would probably curl up in bed with you if you let him." 

"Chaucer is a fine animal," Ezra said quietly and the horse whinnied at the sound of his name.

"Yeah, and he's worse than Nathan when it comes to frettin' about you."

"He knows what side his bread is buttered on..." Ezra coughed again.

"We all know what kind of man you are, Ezra. And we aren’t gonna let anyone say that you're a snake 'cause we know better. We won't even let you say it anymore. You got it?" 

"Got it, Mr. Larabee."

"You were goin' on earlier about how you don't think anyone gives a damn about you. Hell, Ezra, I figured my heart nearly stopped when I realized you were trapped under the water. Thought you were dead. You can't keep doin' this to me."

"I will make a concerted effort... not to."

"You ready to get out of this mud pit and go home?" 

Ezra looked down and said, "I hear that many believe mud is beneficial to the body. They pay unconscionable prices to lay in the stuff."

"That right?"

"Apparently it's good for the pores," Ezra said with a tired shrug.

"Come on, looks like you got your wind back. Let's get on out."

"In a moment..." Ezra mumbled, closing his eyes, pressing his head against Chris' chest.

Larabee waited. He no longer patted Ezra's back, but kept his hand in place, allowing the gambler to rest against him.

"Moment's up," Larabee countered finally. "We're getting out." He sighed when he realized that Ezra had fallen asleep. Ezra's tightly clenched hands finally released the material of Chris' shirt and fell to the water that sluggishly moved around them.

Larabee shook Standish, trying to wake him, but utter exhaustion had finally claimed him.

Now, how was he going to get Ezra out of here? He looked up to the horses, seeing Chaucer still mincing about above them. "He ever teach you to throw a rope?" Larabee called. 

Chaucer snorted derisively and continued his pacing. 

"Figures," Larabee muttered. "It's not as if he could teach you somethin' useful." 

Chris tried to stand with the gambler, but between Ezra's weight and the shifting muck below them, he couldn't manage it. He was about to leave Standish below, propped against the bank, and fetch the rope himself when he heard something.

Job and Chaucer both came to attention above him, twisting their heads and then disappearing from his sight.

"Shit," Chris muttered, pulling his revolver and trying to get between Ezra and whatever was approaching from above.

Larabee smiled when he heard Josiah's baritone booming, "Chris? You out there?”

"Ezra! Where are ya, ya dang fool?" Nathan joined in.

"Here!" Chris called. A moment later Nathan and Josiah appeared above. "We could use a bit of help," he added.

As they drew closer, Josiah shouted out, "Wahl!" His eyes fixed on the body, taking a second to realize that the man was dead. His expression of hatred changed when he saw the mud covered southerner supported by Larabee. "Ezra," he sighed.

Both men were off their horses in an instant. Nathan, his face its usual contortion of worry, asked, "Chris, what happened? He all right? I'm comin' down..."

Chris raised one hand; his other arm was firmly wrapped around the gambler. "Stay put. I need the two of you to get us out of here. He just plumb wore himself out and needs a hand." 

It took only a few minutes to get Chris and Ezra back up the bank with the help of a rope and the force exerted by Jackson and Sanchez. Chris settled Ezra on the ground and the Ezra muttered something quietly. Chris had to lean in closely to hear the words, "despicable way to treat a cat." 

Chris shrugged and let Nathan step in.

"He's gonna be mad about all this mud," Jackson said once he was assured that Ezra was all right. Ezra was completely coated in the grime -- another fine jacket ruined.

"It's beneficial to the pores," Chris said with a smile.

Josiah wet down a handkerchief and did his best to wipe away the mud and muck from Ezra's face. Ezra turned his head, revealing the deepening bruises on his neck. Josiah frowned angrily at the sight. He could see the thick imprint of fingers on Ezra’s pale skin.

Chris shoved his hands in his pockets and asked, "How the hell did Wahl escape?" 

Josiah continued with his work. "Buck ran into a bit of trouble with some associates of Wahl."

"Is Buck all right?" Chris asked, alarmed.

"He got a pretty good thump on the head," Nathan explained. "Really knocked him silly. Should keep 'im off his feet for a day or so."

"Damn," Chris muttered, picking Buck's hat off the ground where it had landed when Wahl was flung from the horse. Buck's jacket would need cleaning if it were salvageable at all. "How'd you find us?" 

"Vin figured Wahl might come back to the McCannon place," Nathan explained. "We found Mr. Bonham with those two fellas that came with Wahl."

Josiah smiled. "I believe Mr. Bonham was happy to have someone relieve him of his prisoners. We left JD in charge of the captives."

Chris furrowed his brow. "So, we got the four of us here... JD's back at the Bonham's... Vin's stuck in the clinic and Buck's got a concussion. Who the hell is watching the town?"

"Well..." Nathan said, trailing off. "Vin and Buck..."

Chris stared for a moment. "Let me recall rightly, Vin just got shot in the chest and Buck was knocked senseless."

"There's the judge as well, Chris," Josiah added helpfully.

"Lord help us, two invalids and an old man." Chris shook his head and stood. "Let's get the hell back there before they reduce the place to rubble."

 

Part 22:

Chris and JD rode in front of the Bonhams' borrowed wagon as Josiah carefully guided it toward Four Corners. The extra horses were tied behind in a hectic bunch. Nathan sat beside the muddy gambler. Ezra had been stripped of the wet and filthy clothes and wrapped in a blanket to keep from getting a chill. Standish hadn't awoken during the process, he had only murmured senselessly. 

Nathan was somewhat relieved, knowing that, if he awoke, Ezra would begin complaining about the dirt and demand an immediate bath. Ezra did stir from time to time during the trip, coughing and muttering and pulling the blanket close to him. 

The two prisoners sat silently at the back of the wagon, beside the body of Wahl. Larabee had promised them a speedy trial, since the judge was already in town, but couldn't guarantee them anything in regard to the outcome. Lewis had cried over the death of his horse, bemoaning the loss of Princess. Gil mumbled oaths regarding the loss of the money.

Chris kept a quick pace toward their home, but dreaded reaching it. With the crowd currently in residence, the place could have been razed by the time they arrived. If the people learned of Wahl's escape and death by a less-than-public means, then there could be real trouble. 

It was growing dark as they approached. Chris strained his ears, listening for the expected sound of breaking glass, gunfire, shouting and general hell-raising. Instead, the group entered a near silent town. 

"Hey, cowboy," Chris heard a familiar Texas drawl from above and saw Vin sitting on the balcony of the clinic. 

"Vin? What the hell you doin' outta bed?" Chris asked sharply.

Vin just raised his finger to his lips and then pointed at an ominous presence outside of the saloon.

The dark shape moved toward them, followed by another form that walked at an unsteady gait from the front of the jail.

"Mr. Larabee," Judge Travis greeted, gripping his rifle tightly as he approached. He dipped his head, taking in the gunslinger's muddied appearance. "I see you ran into trouble?"

Chris glanced at his clothing and uttered, "Yup."

"Were you able to find your missing man?" The judge sounded genuinely concerned as Buck wobbled up behind him.

Larabee nodded as he dismounted. "Ezra's gonna be fine. Just gotta get 'im cleaned up a bit and let 'im sleep." 

The judge had reached the wagon by now and appraised its passengers, from the sleeping, mud-splattered Standish, to the bound captives and the dead Wahl. His gaze remained on the body for a minute, noting the damage caused by the bullet to the head. He had seen many bullet wounds in his career and could recognize the effects of a shot fired at very close range. It looked as if the man had been executed.

Travis looked from one lawman to the next. "So, someone else saw fit to dole out the punishment which I handed down?" 

"There wasn’t a way around it, far as I could tell," Larabee replied. 

"He was tryin' to drown Ezra," Nathan put in. "Nearly broke his neck. Self-defense." 

Travis raised his eyebrows, watching as Dunne and Larabee pulled the captives from the back of the wagon, heedless of the fact that the prisoners had to stumble over Wahl's body to get out. With a shove, Larabee sent them on their way toward the jail with JD minding them, his Colts pointed at their backs.

"It was Standish that killed him?" the judge asked.

"Yup," Chris replied as Nathan lifted Ezra to the edge of the wagon. Ezra murmured something as Josiah took hold of him easily enough and let the sleeping man's head rest against his shoulder.

Travis nodded, not having any more to say on the matter.

"Ev'r one, okay?" Buck slurred as he leaned against a pole. "Ez-o'kay?" He watched in concern as Josiah headed up the stairs to the clinic with his burden.

Nate sighed and stepped up to Wilmington. "He's fine. I just haven't released him from the clinic yet. That's a little fact he seemed to have forgotten. And you'd better march up those stairs, too. Gotta keep an eye on you." He nodded to Chris. "I'm gonna need help gettin' Vin back in bed."

"Hey!" Vin called from above them. "I'm right fine. I don't need no help."

"Yeah, right," Nathan commented.

"So," Chris said, looking up and down the nearly empty street as Josiah made his way up the stairs with Ezra. Nathan followed a few moments later. "What happened? Where is everyone?"

"I declared a curfew just before sundown," the judge replied.

"Curfew?" Ezra mumbled quietly, not opening his eyes.

Josiah smiled, realizing he was the only one that heard the gambler's soft comment. "Go back to sleep, Ezra. This is all a dream."

"Curfew? More like a nightmare..." Ezra tiredly drawled. "There'll be a bath soon, won't there?"

"Called off due to the curfew," Josiah responded.

"Damnation," Ezra coughed and added, "No luck a'tall."

"And a curfew was enough to clear the streets?" Chris continued.

"Well," Travis nodded to the balcony where Nathan had paused to check on Vin, "I was in the middle of town. I had a sharpshooter at this end and a cock-eyed cowboy on the other." 

"Cock-eyed?" Buck sputtered. "Now see here, I may be... I may be..." Chris reached out his hand to steady his friend and push him back against the post.

The judge grinned. "Between Mr. Tanner's accuracy and Mr. Wilmington's lack-thereof, nobody wanted to be caught between them."

"I'z jus' got a knock on the noggin is all," Buck said, rubbing his bandaged head. "Not to worry none."

"And of course," the judge said with a tip of his hat, "I have a reputation of my own."

"Chris!" Nathan called down. "I'm gonna need a hand with this one, and get Buck up here."

"I'm doin' fine right here," Vin declared, glaring at the healer who hovered over him. "I think I'll spend the night."

Nathan sighed his long-suffering sigh. "I didn't think I'd ever see a day when my most compliant patient was Ezra. At least he's asleep and won't give me no trouble."

Josiah laughed as he heard Ezra mutter, "Bath, just a bath is all..."

Josiah kicked open the door and promised, "Don't worry, son, we'll get ya tidied up."

"Come on, Buck," Chris said, grabbing hold of Wilmington. "Let's go on up and see to Vin. Get ya'all settled. Then it looks like I gotta go down and help the judge keep the peace."

"Take your time," Travis said, shouldering the rifle. "Take your time." He watched as Larabee maneuvered Wilmington up the stairs. Wilmington almost toppled over the railing, but Larabee held tightly and managed to save him from disaster.

"Wan' me ta len' a hand?" Wilmington asked as Larabee and Jackson got Tanner to his feet. The tracker groaned but managed to keep from making any further sounds.

"No, Buck, no!" Nathan stated firmly. "You just stand there and help hold up that wall for a minute or so and we'll be back for ya." 

"Right... right." Buck rubbed his head and followed them anyway. He made it half way to the clinic door before falling flat on his face.

"Buck..." Larabee looked over his shoulder.

"Jus' a minute now," Wilmington said. "What the hell happened?" 

"We'll be back to get'cha, Buck," Nathan said as he continued moving Tanner inside.

Travis turned slowly and headed down the middle of the street, toward the jail. There were many things he regretted in his life and there were things he was damn proud of. His son had been one of those things he was proud of, and Billy, too. Decisions made were sometimes good and sometimes bad. The sweet and the sour seemed to be doled out almost arbitrarily at times.

He paused in the middle of the quiet town and smiled. When he hired these seven men to watch this town... he had done something right. A mighty fine thing indeed.

 

Part 23:

Chris Larabee leaned against the roof support and gazed out across the quiet town. Word had gotten out concerning Wahl's timely demise and for a few minutes it had looked like all hell was going to break loose. But a few well-chosen words -- backed up with the proper weaponry -- had sent people on their way.

By late morning, the town had returned to normal. Thank God, Chris thought. He could use some normality at that moment. He turned his head when he saw the familiar sight of Nathan managing a tray as he stepped from the restaurant and headed toward the clinic.

"Mornin', Nate," Chris said as the healer passed him with the laden tray. Jackson just grumbled and continued on his way. Chris smiled and followed. 

"So, how'd it go last night?" Chris continued.

"Don't get me started," Nathan said. "First off, I couldn't get Ezra shut up until he had his damn bath. Josiah had to go wake up Mr. Breen at the bathhouse to fire up the works so that one man could get himself a hot bath. Buck wouldn't sit still. He kept gettin' to his feet, tryin' to 'help' and the next thing I knew I was peelin' 'im off the floor. Then he was up pukin' half the night. Lord, the smell of it. Between that and Ezra's coughing, there was no hope of gettin' any rest. Then Ezra started demanding I get a separate room for Buck, and that only got Vin in on it, too. Vin said he couldn't sleep with either of 'em and would be better off in his wagon...started complainin' about getting out, sayin' he proved he was up to it and should be..."

"Yup, you were right," Chris said with a nod. It wasn't often that Nathan went on for so long. "I shouldn't 'ave got you started."

"I don't know why I do it, Chris," Nathan said as the two of them headed up the stairs. "They're such children! Don't know what's good for 'em. Don't listen to a word I say." 

"You put up with it because you love bossin' 'em around while you got 'em under your roof," Chris tried as he followed Jackson.

Nathan snapped his mouth shut and then looked over his shoulder at Larabee. "Well..." he said and then shook his head. 

"So you manage to keep 'em in place all night long?"

Jackson snorted. "After yesterday's escape, I figured I'd better take more drastic measures." 

"And that would be?" 

"Ah, I kinda tied up Ezra." 

"Tied 'im? You tied 'im up?" 

"Just around his good ankle. Tied him to the cot for the night." Nathan waited as Chris pushed open the door. "I swear, that man just don't know what's good for 'im. I'm thinkin' I may get some handcuffs for the other two if this works..." Nathan stepped into the room and muttered, "Son of a bitch."

Chris almost laughed. The cot where Ezra had been placed for the night was empty, the rope coiled up beside it. Vin and Buck both peered innocently from their beds at the two men in the doorway.

"Buck! Vin!" Nathan dropped the tray to the table. The contents clattered and shook at the violent action. "Where the hell is he?"

"Cain't rightly say," Vin said. "He must'a snuck off while you were gettin' the grub."

"He's a slick devil," Buck assented. "Slicker than a slicked up pig in a pig-slickin' contest."

The other three men exchanged glances and Nathan sighed, wondering if there was any brain damage. "And neither of you two seen 'im go?"

"He's a master of deception," Buck replied. "He horn-swaggled us."

“Yeah, tricked us good," Vin nodded. "Had us lookin' one way and the next thin' ya know, he's out the door."

"He's on the loose again," Nathan groaned and pressed the heels of his hands to his forehead. "I'll go check the livery, see if he's taken off. Then I'll check the restaurant. Might be lookin' for breakfast. He was complainin’ about the stuff I bring ‘round." He looked toward Chris.

"I'll take the saloon and his room," Chris declared.

Nathan sighed. "I just hope he hasn't made it up to the roof-tops again. Won't be no gettin' him down from there." Chris watched as the defeated healer left the room. Once the door was shut he turned to the other two inhabitants. It took only a few seconds for them to break under his glare.

"I had nothin' to do with it!" Buck declared.

Chris turned his gaze on Vin and the tracker shrugged. "He don't like scrutiny."

"Scrutiny?" Chris tried.

"Said he don't like folks hoverin' over him, pokin' at him, fussin'. Don't like scrutiny." Vin said the word carefully, since he had just learned it.

"So you untied him?"

"I owed 'im one, I 'spect," Vin replied. "Ez near killed 'imself to save my life. Least I can do is get 'im away from all the dang scrutiny." 

"And you didn't help at all?" Chris turned to Buck.

Wilmington rolled his eyes. "Okay, okay! I didn't want Vin to split a stitch or somethin' tryin' to get that little snake untied. All I did was give Vin a bit of a hand. And, got the walkin' stick out of the rafters..."

"Why didn’t both of you leave, too?"

Vin and Buck both had the same look of disbelief on their faces. "Breakfast was coming," Buck finally explained and Vin nodded in agreement. "Speakin' o'which," Buck said, throwing back the blankets and moving toward the forgotten tray. He was wearing nothing but his underwear from the waist down.

"You're hungry?" Chris asked, remembering how Buck had spent the night.

Wilmington tapped his head and said, "Head don't hurt so much anymore." And then rubbed his stomach. "And the belly is awful empty."

"I want some of that toast, Bucklin," Vin called, looking toward the tray. "Put some of those eggs on it and a slab of that ham and get me a cup of coffee while yer up."

"Don't get your panties in a twist," Buck returned, shoving a sausage into his mouth. He harrumphed. "Not nearly enough here!"

"Sausage, too!" Vin pointing to the plate. "And if there's bacon..."

"Well, the two of you are certainly in for it," Chris cut in. "Nathan ain't gonna like this."

"Don't tell Nate 'bout what we did!" Vin exclaimed, a touch of fear in his voice.

Chris shook his head. "You're on your own. You know he's gonna figure this out." He turned his gaze to Buck, who was chewing on a slice of bacon while he assembled Vin's breakfast request. "And don't call Ezra a snake anymore, okay, Buck?" 

Wilmington blinked at him as he swallowed the last of his bacon slice. He was confused for a minute, and had to backtrack in the conversation. Finally, he recalled the idle comment and said, "Ah, ya know I don't mean nothin' by that, Chris."

"I know, but don't," Larabee said with a nod. He waited until he received a nod from the two very-much-in-trouble lawmen and turned toward the door. He stopped when he thought of something. "And so he left here near-naked?" The gambler’s clothing had been in desperate need of cleaning when he arrived in Four Corners the previous evening, and had been spirited away to his washerwoman, Mrs. Underwood, who would try to resurrect the stuff.

"Well," Vin sighed and looked away. "He kinda borrowed my jacket..."

Chris' eyes nearly bugged out of his head. "Your jacket?"

Buck laughed as he handed Vin a rather large wad of bread, bacon, ham, eggs and sausage. "You should've seen it, Chris. I bet ol' Ez turned three shades of green when he put it on."

"And pants?"

"He took Buck's," Vin stated nodding to the pant-free Wilmington. Buck grinned and pulled on his shirt, as if he were embarrassed by his current state, playing it up as if he were a bashful schoolgirl.

Vin smirked and then continued, "Took his boots, too."

"Your boots?" Chris asked incredulously, knowing how Buck felt about the footwear.

"He can be rather insistent," Buck explained. “He took Vin’s hat.” 

Larabee laughed, trying to imagine Standish in Vin's jacket and hat, with Buck's too-big pants and oversized boots. "I gotta see this..." 

Chris left the clinic and clambered down the stairs. He made his way to the saloon where Inez was wiping down the counter, cleaning up after the morning crowd. She didn't say a word, but tipped her head toward the stairs and then went back to work. 

Larabee headed up the stairs at the rear of the saloon and found Ezra's door partially open. He pressed it wide, seeing the gambler before his mirror.

"Mr. Larabee," Ezra greeted as he tied his cravat; his voice still sounded hoarse from the abuse that was perpetrated to his larynx. His face was freshly shaven, the lather still clinging to the razor in his basin.

Chris leaned in the doorway. The borrowed jacket and pants were carefully laid across the back of a chair. The boots stood beside the chair like soldiers. The hat was carefully set on the seat. Damn, Chris thought. He was too quick for me. Larabee nodded to the pilfered garments. "So, I see you've experienced the Tanner coat?"

"Experienced?" Ezra shuddered. He ran his hand through his hair, and coughed quietly. He gave Chris a meaningful glance and added, “This is never to be mentioned again.”

We'll see, Chris thought. Ezra reached for a forest-green jacket and pulled it on, brushing at the sleeves once he had it settled to his satisfaction. He coughed again and then regarded his reflection in the mirror. Apparently he was satisfied with what he saw.

Chris noticed that the collar of Ezra's shirt was especially elaborate, most likely to hide the evident bruising around his neck. Bastard, Chris thought, thinking of how Wahl had nearly drowned Ezra in that ditch. Ezra had said nothing about the experience so far, and Chris doubted that he ever would.

Ezra rolled his shoulders and turned his head slowly back and forth as he holstered his weapons.

"Neck still hurts?"

"Not as badly as my back." Ezra gave Chris a look and continued, "I believe you enjoyed administering that drubbing."

"I 'spect," Larabee replied, recalling the fear that had gripped him when he pulled the apparently lifeless Standish out of the water.

"I would think that my absence from the clinic has been noted by now."

"You'll be hearin' from Nathan any minute."

Ezra grinned and raised an eyebrow. "Not if Dame Fortune is with me. I believe that our Mr. Jackson is currently checking the livery?"

"Yeah, that's where he went..."

"After that, perhaps he will be heading to the restaurant?"

"Yeah, he might be."

Ezra's grin widened, revealing his gold tooth. "Then I can make my way to the livery while he is engaged in the restaurant. Mrs. Combé will undoubtedly delay him there for a short time."

"Yeah, and why do you figure that?"

Ezra looked contemplative. "Perhaps because of the order she received moments ago. Apparently, just after Nathan left her establishment with this morning's repast, a new order arrived for second helpings of everything. Misters Tanner and Wilmington are consummate gluttons and will undoubtedly require more to eat this mornin'."

"And where did this second order come from?"

Ezra gave Chris a confused look and said, "That's a mystery." He then grabbed the cane from the bed and used it to hook his hat from the dresser. "I have only a few moments..."

"Ezra," Chris sighed. "You know, it's for your own good. You need your rest yet."

Ezra headed out the door, using the cane to keep weight off the still painful leg. "I'm plannin' to rest, Mr. Larabee. I simply choose to do it elsewhere." 

"Away from scrutiny?" Chris shut the door behind him.

Ezra stopped and looked back to Larabee, with perhaps a touch of surprise on his face. He composed himself quickly enough and replied, "Exactly." He pulled a key from his pocket, locked the door and then headed toward the stairs.

"Where're you goin' then?"

"I received an invitation that I plan to keep."

"And what is this invite, Ez?" Chris put his hand under Ezra's elbow as they descended the stairs, careful to keep him steady. 

Ezra looked down at the hand, but did nothing to dislodge it as he negotiated the stairs. "Mrs. Bonham, while you were tending the horses, invited me to return for a more proper luncheon. She said that she'd be fixin' a roast chicken with yams today. And there is still that promise of a batch of soda biscuits to take home with me."

"I hear they're the best in the territory." Chris was amused. At least he's back to eating again, he mused. The two men nodded to Inez who smiled back at them.

She shook her head, not really understanding what the men were up to. She never really understood. She had seen Ezra pass through earlier in Vin's jacket and Buck's pants. She had stopped him, wanting to say something about his attire. Ezra had held a finger to his lips and had said, "You haven't seen me, my dear." He had glanced down at the ragged jacket and reiterated, "You definitely haven't seen me." 

Inez chuckled and continued with her work as Chris and Ezra reached the door. She would file away the image of the dapper man in the antediluvian jacket, the dusty hat perched at a precarious angle across his head, clutching the oversized pants with one hand and trying to manage the cane and the too-big boots as he climbed the stairs. She'd have to draw on that memory on the days that Standish was acting particularly foppish.

"Think you can make it there okay?" Chris asked.

Ezra cocked his head at the gunslinger. "Mrs. Bonham has promised pie for dessert," he said, as if that were an answer to the question.

"Pie. I should have figured as much. I know you can't say no to pie."

"Lord, it is my weak-spot." Ezra paused in the doorway, carefully looking both ways in case Nathan had freed himself from Mrs. Combé’s confusion. He turned back to Chris and added, "You have been invited as well." He leaned back out the door and saw that the coast was clear. "Prepare yourself, Mr. Larabee. We must be fleet of foot."

Larabee tried not to laugh as Ezra uttered, "damn, damn, damn" with every footfall as they ran across the road and into the dimness of the livery. Chris held in his laughter until they reached the building, where he finally gave in.

"Please!" Ezra said urgently. "You are utterly hopeless when it comes to surreptitiousness, Mr. Larabee."

Chris rested his hands on his knees and shook his head. "What kind of pie, Ezra?"

"Cherry..." Ezra said with a nod. "Mrs. Bonham is expecting us before noon."

Well, what else could Chris do but accompany the gambler? Cherry was his favorite kind of pie. "Let's get goin' then."

The END


End file.
